


Cute for a Dead Guy

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Crack Pairing, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Masturbation, Necrophilia, Sexual Fantasy, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Awakening, Elissa Cousland is hardly the most inspiring of commanders. A foul-mouthed, bad-tempered, spoiled little rich girl who at least has the good grace to recognise she's far from a sterling role model. And ever since Alistair stopped talking to her for the debacle at the Landsmeet and Zevran vanished for northern shores, her bed has been a little too empty for her tastes. After an investigation in the Black Marsh doesn't go according to plan, she ends up with a Fade Spirit amongst the ranks who intrigues her far too much.</p><p>But being intrigued is all well and good, as long as it stays in her head... until a combination of alcohol and bad timing lead to a most bizarre encounter late at night in the Commander's quarters...</p><p><b>WARNING:</b> This is an erotic story involving Justice in his Awakening form aka possessing Kristoff's dead body. Not for everyone. But it is funny and meltingly hot. Read at your discretion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For a dead guy, he was disturbingly cute.

She wasn’t sure what it was exactly; it wasn’t like she’d looked at Kristoff’s body when they’d found it and thought ‘hmm, potential’. Maybe it was because at that point he was most definitely a body, and not… something else. Now she had to try not to stare at the sharp cheekbones, his face a tad too gaunt for him to be considered classically handsome- _he is dead, Lis, don’t forget that part_ \- or wonder about the broad shoulders hidden beneath the plate mail, or sit enthralled by the swirling, misty eyes that identified him as particularly not human. Oh Maker, and that voice! Deep and growly and just grumpy as fuck… it made her toes curl.

So now she was having inappropriate thoughts about a Fade spirit, of all things, in the body of one of her Wardens. And wasn’t it weird that that _wasn’t_ the most bizarre thing that had crossed her mind in the last eighteen months since this whole Warden business began?

Elissa Cousland, Commander of the Grey, was more than willing to accept the spirit of justice when he offered to aid them in escaping the Blackmarsh. She’d had worse companions while fighting the Darkspawn, certainly less polite and less eloquent than he, and his assistance turned out to be rather necessary when they came up against the Baroness.

Of course, since nothing ever seemed to go according to plan, the spirit with the growly voice and the searing presence followed them through the veil- and was promptly trapped in the body of a recently deceased Warden whom she assumed she would have had jurisdiction over (he was remarkably senior to her, what was the protocol there?) but he was older than her and had served for longer and- _fuck_. This was just way too complicated to work out. It had been a little less complicated during the Blight, when the only other Warden had been Alistair and he’d had about enough initiative to fight his way out of a wet paper bag, but now… now she had half a dozen Wardens looking to her for guidance and she was sure it was only a matter of time until someone called her out on a stupid decision.

And now on top of Wardens and bickering nobles and darkspawn, she had a Fade spirit following obediently after her and making her shiver every time he opened his- _Kristoff’s?_ \- mouth. And it had been far too long since Zevran had sauntered off to Antiva with barely a how-do-you-do and a wink, way too long if she was getting hot and flustered over that growly voice prattling on about justice and fighting for the weak.

But yeah. Cute for a dead guy.

 _A dead guy with a wife_ , she reminded herself harshly as they made the trek back to Vigil’s Keep later on. Someone was going to have to deal with her at some point, and she sure didn’t think it was going to be her new glowing recruit. Placate grieving widow; that was a new one. She wondered if Warden Commanders in other territories had to deal with the weird crap she had to put up with.

He kept up admirably, and without complaint, although his need to stop and stare at the most mundane things was quickly growing tiresome. But then his little comment about overlooked beauty made her heart melt just a little, because it was the kind of corny thing that Zevran would have said at some point when he was trying to charm her out of her pants- usually successfully- but Justice meant it entirely sincerely.

And then she reminded herself that she was getting flustered over the poetic ramblings of a Fade spirit inside a dead guy, and no matter how many months it had been since she’d last had sex, that wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted carved onto her memorial when she died. _Here lies Lady Elissa Cousland: Hero of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Slayer of Urthemiel and Shagger of Dead Wardens._

So when he spoke to her again, she just bit her tongue and smiled politely, trying not to wonder if that gauntness continued over the rest of his new body and if he had that delicious hip jut she’d adored so much on Zevran.

 _Maker, Lis, you’ve got to be the worst Commander ever._

***

At the very least, life in the Vigil was never boring. With squabbling, rebellious nobles to bring to heel, increasing numbers of darkspawn sightings, panicked refugees seeking out sanctuary and the mythical protection of the Hero- as if she alone could fight off the hordes and feed them and sing their shrieking children to sleep- a crumbling fortress and defence force that was chewing through her carefully acquired funds so fast they’d be lucky to last out the month, and that was _before_ she’d even made it to her desk to deal with her correspondence.

Anora wanted updates on the situation in Amaranthine, still mistrustful of the woman who had walked away from the encounter with the Archdemon while her father had not. Alistair still wasn’t talking to her beyond anything that officially required him to acknowledge her, King to Hero, so no news from him. Zevran hadn’t written- not that she was expecting him to. They’d had their fun, and when the thrill of near death had faded, and the glory had been replaced by boring, every day duty, he’d slipped away. At the time she hadn’t thought she’d cared, but as the months crept by and she woke up every morning alone, sometimes clawing at the sheets in half remembered panic from the nightmares, she felt the ache for companionship grow stronger each day.

She hadn’t loved him- at least, she didn’t think she had- but it had been nice to crawl in beside someone each evening, to bitch and bemoan the disasters of the day before letting pleasure wipe those fears away. Now, with the Arling descending into chaos without even an Archdemon to blame, it would have been nice to have someone again, to snigger over bad jokes with and mock the fashion sense of the Banns and to spend late evenings bent over her office desk and slowly fucked senseless.

Which, to be fair, she could have had already if she wanted. Anders had thrown out enough sly remarks that she knew he’d be up for all of the above, and if she really set her mind to the task, she could have broken Nathaniel easily enough. Or she could just pick random Keep soldier number seven, and have her way with him in every part of the office. She was _the_ Hero, _the_ Warden; no one would turn her down if she made come-hither eyes and crooked her finger. And her office was certainly staid enough that a good shag or two would hardly tarnish the austerity of it.

Her office was Howe’s office. Or should that be Howe’s office was her office? Nathaniel certainly seemed to hiss enough unpleasant things under his breath to call the ownership into question, but at this point it hardly seemed to matter. Although having sex with _him_ on his father’s desk would certainly liven up the gossip chain in the Keep…

But none of that mattered right now. Right now she was alone, and it was all miserable conjecture. Right now, it was exceedingly late and she was well on her way to getting drunk. She’d filched some unlabelled monstrosity from Oghren, poured herself a very liberal helping, and could already feel the buzz before she’d downed the first.

Right now, she was lonely and horny and getting drunk all by herself sounded marvellous.

She slammed the fine crystal tumbler down onto the desktop with a gasp, half expecting to hear the tinkle of broken glass and the accompanying stab of pain in the palm of her hand. She stared down blurrily at the desk, waiting for her brain to catch up. Nope, the glass had stood up to her momentary fit of pique, so she filled it to the brim with the liquor of questionable origins and took another clumsy mouthful, trying not to choke as it burned.

And tried not to think of Justice, who just stood quietly in the back of her thoughts and _smouldered_.

Oh that wasn’t fair. He didn’t smoulder. Not intentionally anyway. It wasn’t like he was aware of his own appeal… although to be honest she had to wonder herself most days what his appeal actually _was_. She had tried ignoring him, tried to just be aloof with him, but it wasn’t any good. All he had to do was open his mouth and she was surreptitiously clutching at nearby surfaces to keep herself upright; that _voice_ of his… the Maker had certainly gotten one thing right with his First Children.

It wasn’t right; he wasn’t even human, and the part of him that was human was dead. Where was the ‘ _fuck no_ ’ from her rational side, decrying her as perverted for even considering it? Why did she only get more and more curious the more she considered it?

Zevran would have laughed at her; would he have understood, too? At the thought of her ex-lover her hand drifted from her knee a little higher, lazy little strokes that made her shiver. With her other hand she took another swallow of the appalling home brew, letting her hand glide a little higher again until she was stroking herself through her breeches.

She moaned and shifted, letting her legs fall apart to try and find a better angle. The pressure was _good_ , and she let her head loll back against the chair. Yet it wasn’t quite enough, and even if the need for companionship remained, she could damn well find satisfaction in this by herself.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, refusing to accept that she had quite distinctly slurred. She hauled herself to her feet, fingers fumbling with the final few laces of her pants, before she shimmied awkwardly from them and kicked them away from her ankles.

She shivered at the rush of cool air against her skin, but it didn’t distract her for long. She was already running fingers over her stomach, up under shirt, teasing herself with the wait as she slumped back into the chair. She could already smell her own arousal, and she couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of her wetness marking the velvet cushion beneath her. Oh, wouldn’t that be fun- to finger fuck herself and come all over the upholstery, and then graciously gift the chair to Nathaniel as a means of reparation? She snickered, picturing it already: ‘ _a means of returning to you a little of what was taken from you and your family. Please accept this wonderful chair with my_ fondest _regards_.’

Elissa sighed happily as she ran both hands down the inside of her thighs, slouching back further in the chair as she opened herself up to play. Fingers brushed against damp curls and she shivered; the feel of hot, slick flesh made her moan, luxuriating in the glide of sodden fingers over her aching clit.

She hefted one leg up onto the desk to give herself a better angle, her chuckle melting into a moan as she found precisely the right spot. The alcohol had imbued her with a pleasant giddiness, and she found herself giggling as her thoughts blurred together over memories of Zevran and fantasies of Justice. Oh, it was so wrong, so deliciously wrong, to remember the way her lover’s hands moved over her but to imagine Fade bright eyes locked with hers as she climaxed.

She moaned a little louder, fingers moving a little faster. Were Fade spirits curious at all about sex? She’d certainly heard Oghren grilling Justice mercilessly over all manner of inappropriate topics and she’d giggled into her hand at the dwarf’s growing frustration with the spirit’s obliqueness. He’d mentioned having access to Kristoff’s memories… did that include memories of sultry nights and lazy mornings, entwined bodies and sweat and desperation in the search for shared pleasure?

She wanted to imagine they were there within him, lingering thoughts to perplex and intrigue him; she wanted to imagine a lot of things about Justice, actually, and most of them would probably have her committed to a sanatorium if she spoke them aloud. But, _oh_ , she wanted to run her hands over him, she wanted to hear him growl erotic obscenities in her ear in that amazing voice, she wanted to touch him and pet him and feel him and find out exactly how far she could push him until he lost his stoic control. And it was probably the drink talking, but Maker take her if she didn’t find the idea of fucking him just far too arousing.

“He’s not _really_ dead, right?” The words seemed a lot worse spoken aloud, but so much more delicious as well. How much could he feel, trapped in Kristoff’s body? What sensations would he be susceptible to? Would he let her find out if she crept out into the Keep to find him? Would he let her have her depraved way with him, ever loyal and unswerving in what he seemed to think was his obligation to her?

Her head fell back against the chair with another moan, her hips moving of their own accord as she writhed against her own hand. She was close, so _very_ close, and Zevran was barely a whisper in her mind now. She was utterly lost in her degenerate fantasies, dreaming of fucking a Fade spirit with infinite eyes and _Maker_ , it was such a bad idea but right now perched on the brink of orgasm, she didn’t care in the slightest. She gasped as she pumped her fingers, needy and desperate and _so very close…_

And then the last thing that she could possibly have wanted happened. There was a knock on the door.

She stilled a fraction of a second later, her lust fogged brain dampened by alcohol and dulling her reaction time. There was just enough time for adrenalin to turn into panic, for the sharpest of the pleasure to die instantly- but continue to linger as an ache between her thighs- before the last thing that she could possibly have wanted turned into the worst thing that could possibly have happened. The door began to _open._

With a panicked half shriek, she all but threw herself off the chair and onto the floor behind the desk, scrabbling around desperately for her clothing. Glancing around wildly, panicked, she let out a horrified moan as she realised she’d thrown her pants clear across the room towards the door of her bedroom. She was half naked, horny as the Void with her aching body precariously close to orgasm, crouching on the floor behind her desk.

 _If it’s anyone other than Anders, I don’t think I’ll be winning Commander of the Year._

There was the thud of footfall, the obvious presence of another in the room and the even more alarming sound of the door falling shut. She held her breath, clinging desperately to the vain hope that maybe they would assume her to be elsewhere… if they were deaf enough to have missed her desperate squeal when the door had first opened.

Her visitor paused, a painful silence falling over the room. She could hear clothing shifting, a foot scuffing softly against the carpet.

“Commander.” Not a question, not a query to an empty room to gauge if she was there at all. It was a statement, her title called with the expectation that she would answer.

And it was _him_.

The sound of his voice sent a new rush of heat between her legs, that rough echo that hinted at great power and his otherworldly origins. Feeling dazed and horrified, as if this were some set up in a terribly florid erotica, she crawled to her knees and peered over the edge of the desk.

Justice stood in the centre of the room, his body language stiff and unrelenting as always. He had taken to removing the weighty plate armour around the Keep, the strain too often too much for his body to sustain when not in battle; now he wore nothing but the basics, a plain linen shirt and breeches. And _Maker_ , the sight of him after driving herself into a frenzy to thoughts of him was nearly too much and she bit her lip to stop from moaning.

“Justice.” She tried to sound as aloof as possible, like it was perfectly normal for her to be hiding on the floor behind her desk and she was expecting some kind of patrol report from him. Yes, that was it. She’d just pretend he was here to talk business. “Is there something I can help you with?”

He was silent for a moment, infinity swirling in those silver mist eyes. Every silence with him was weighted with expectation, knowing that he was judging every word for merit before speaking it aloud. He was so meticulous in his speech, so careful with every word that he uttered. She realised she was holding her breath, waiting anxiously to see if he would let her odd behaviour slide.

Finally he nodded brusquely. “Commander. I apologise for disturbing you so late in the evening, but I could not help but overhear your cries of distress as I passed. Are you in pain?”

Justice had heard her. Justice had _heard_ her.

She wondered whether it was possible to simply die of mortification. Because surely being caught masturbating by the undead object of your obsessions qualified as the most likely way to reach that moment.

She gaped for a moment, flailing about desperately for something eloquent to say. “Uhh…”

Fantastic. That explained everything in such infinite detail that he couldn’t possibly have a reason to tarry. He’d surely turn around and leave any second now.

He cocked his head slightly to the side, eyes flickering over her face as he considered her. “Commander? Your silence concerns me- are you in need of my assistance?”

A half hysterical giggle bubbled up from inside of her; she wouldn’t turn down a _particular_ form of assistance from him, not right now with her inhibitions so low and her body still tingling from thwarted arousal. But she couldn’t say that out loud; she didn’t _dare_ to say that out loud, because that would make her perversion real. She couldn’t back down from that once she’d admitted it to another- she would be forever branded by her confession, forever condemned and sneered upon for this unholy obsession with a Fade spirit. “Oh, Justice…” she giggled, pressing her forehead into the edge of the desk so she didn’t have to look at him watching her.

“You are experiencing discomfort,” he said in that deliciously gravelly voice. “Are you in pain? Have you been injured? If that is the case, I must insist upon you seeking medical attention. I will accompany you to ensure you are adequately treated. If you unable to support yourself, I will assist you in making it to the infirmary.”

“Assist me?” she croaked.

He nodded. “If need be, I will carry you. Shall we be on our way? Are you able to stand at all?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, unsure whether she wanted to laugh or moan. Of course the immensely naïve Fade Spirit would assume her discomfort was due to illness or injury, rather than being horny enough to actually consider staggering drunkenly out into the hallway to see if Anders or Nathaniel kept their doors locked at night. Of course he would offer to be physically intimate with her in the most platonic sense, out of a sense of nobility and servitude and not at all what she wanted to beg him for. “No, Justice, I’m just… I’m fine. Just fine. I don’t need any attention.”

 _Maker, you’re such a fucking liar Lis._

He was still staring at her in that unnervingly intense manner of his; it made her want to shiver. “I heard you cry out from the hallway, and enter your room to find you on the floor. Forgive me, but I’m not sure I understand the nature of this situation. You honestly are not in need of any help? You are not in distress at all?”

This was getting ridiculous. Was this a setup? “Justice, seriously, I’m fine! You can just… leave now, or something.” The drink still had enough sway over her thoughts that she wasn’t quite as coherent as she’d like to be. But really, all she wanted was for him to leave so that she could lock herself in her bedchamber and work off her frustration at least twice.

 _He was still staring._ She wanted to screech in desperation and hurl herself at him, just to see if it would get a reaction from him. Anything had to be better than those Fade bright eyes watching her so closely, assessing her, measuring her, considering her. She still had one hand beneath the desk, out of direct sight and she surreptitiously moved it up the inside of her thigh, to run it just along the edge of her dampened curls. If he wouldn’t damn well leave, she’d at least make the most of him being here.

He frowned slightly, awareness creeping into his eyes. “Perhaps I am mistaken in this, but if you are not in pain, are you instead sexually aroused?”

She went deathly still.

“The memories I have of Kristoff’s life suggest that women can make somewhat distressing noises in the throes of passion,” he continued, oblivious to her reaction. “But you do not appear to have a sexual partner here with you. Am I correct? Is your distress a result of your overstimulation and lack of an adequate bedmate?”

She let out a strangled noise- something part scream, part moan, part hysterical, mortified cackle. “Justice, you need to leave _right_ now.”

“Do you need me to fetch someone for you?” he asked instead. Maker, he could not be this blissfully ignorant; this had to be a prank. “I know that Warden Anders has made sexual overtures to you in the past, as has the dwarf. Should I summon them for you now?”

Without waiting for her answer, he turned and made for the door. The floor fell out beneath her, horror surging through her at the realisation that he _actually_ meant to go and wake up one of her Wardens to procure them for _sex_. With no time to stop or think, she surged to her feet, launching herself over the desk and scrabbling madly to make it to the door before him.

They got there at the same time; she slid in between him and the door, swatting away his hand as it reached for the handle. She swung around, meaning to snap at him and tell him to leave well enough alone, when her brain caught up with her.

She was all but pressed up against him, only a hairsbreadth separating them from one another; in fact, as she gasped for air she found that her hardened nipples brushed ever so lightly against the loose fitting linen shirt he wore. He just seemed to loom over her, not significantly taller by any means, but his presence and his immediacy just made her want to swoon backwards against the door. And he was _dead_ , she knew he was dead, there was no way around that fact; the gaunt, ragged edge to his features that was far too unhealthy to be among the living, and the body that just seemed a little too wiry beneath the baggy clothes were proof enough.

And of course, there was the tiny issue that she was standing in front of him without pants, with the proof of her arousal smeared across both of her hands. For a moment they both stood frozen in place; her heart was beating so loudly she could have sworn it was only a matter of seconds before someone tried to break in her door to see what the source of the interminable noise was. Justice seemed to recover first, his head tilted ever so slightly to the right- as always- as he broke his gaze from hers and stepped back to scrutinise her once more. As those ever curious eyes tracked slowly over her exposed body, she couldn’t help but think _Maker Lis, what are you doing?_

She bit her lip, trying to find the courage to stop herself. “Would you like to touch me, Justice?”


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t answer her immediately, and the silence gave her conscience time to conjure horrified panic at what she had idiotically admitted aloud. “Oh, Maker, Justice, fuck. I didn’t mean that, we can just… Maker, let’s just forget I said that at all. I’ve had a few drinks, and I-”

Justice cut her off, placing his hand over her mouth; she would have said the gesture was teasing if anyone else had done it, fingers placed gently over her lips. But he did it merely to quieten her, in a situation that he clearly was out of his depth in. “You desire companionship of a sexual nature; would it not be more appropriate for you to seek out a better partner than myself? I am curious as to why you would offer such an opportunity to me.”

Maker, he made the damned thing sound like a business deal, rather than just a simple ‘ _would you like to fuck?_ ’ “Justice, I…” _Back out, back out, back out!_ “It’s fine, we’ll just ignore what I said and call it a night.”

Speaking around his fingers was difficult, but somehow she made herself sound coherent. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes sombre. “I will accept your offer on one condition,” he said abruptly.

Stunned, she spluttered for a moment as she scrambled about desperately for words, trying to ignore the sharp spike of arousal in her loins. “What? No, Justice, I retract the offer! There was never an offer… Maker, no, we can’t have sex! I don’t even… I’m not even sure you can! Your body is dead!”

He frowned slightly at that. “I have control over this mortal body to a certain extent. I can control any muscle or limb as if the body were still alive- elsewise how would I grasp a sword, or bear the weight of the armour your smith fashioned for me? I am functional to the extent you require.”

Elissa blinked once, then twice. Then a third time. Then she slumped against him, hiding her face in his chest. “Oh Maker, Justice, you did not just say that.”

“Say what? Have I offended you?”

“No, you just… were much more brutally honest than I was expecting. Which, really, I should have been expecting. From you, I mean.”

His hand came under her chin and prised her gently from him, turning her face up so that he could gaze at her again. Like before, it struck her that the gesture would have been affectionate and intimate had anyone else done it to her… but with Justice, it was impossible to tell.

They were so close now, her body pressed up against his. He had one hand on her hip, resting on the curve with long fingers draping over the swell of her arse. His other hand was tucked under her chin, their faces so close that if she wanted to she could reach up and kiss him…

… but she didn’t want to kiss him. Did she? Wouldn’t that be weird? _Gee, Lis, weirder than sex with a Fade Spirit in a dead body? Not possible!_ She bit her tongue to keep from laughing hysterically, instead finding herself mesmerized by the way his swirling, eternal eyes flickered over her face, as if he was struggling to read her. It felt strange to stand so close to another and not feel body heat… instead he radiated an aura that made the hair on her arm stand on end, something that made her shiver; his body was cool to touch, not quite chilly through the linen of his shirt but not quite right either.

“Commander,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. To his mouth. “You desire my company in your bed?”

Oh Maker, he made it sound so formal but so sexy. “Uh…” Sweet Maker, what could she say to that? “Maybe. Possibly. It isn’t really healthy for me to… that is to say, you’re not really-”

“You are concerned that it is not appropriate for you to engage in sexual congress with a Fade Spirit.”

He said it so assuredly, as if that was the only reason she could possibly object. And for fuck’s sake, she was standing in front of him without pants on, and when he said ‘sexual’ it was all she could do not to let her head fall back against the door and moan and grind against him.

She was crushing on a Fade Spirit in a dead body. And so help her, she couldn’t find the strength to find that wrong right now.

She swallowed. “I’m drunk enough that I don’t really care at the moment.”

He contemplated her for a moment. “Do you suppose this will make me a demon?” he asked. He said it without fear, his voice strong, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that suggested he was not as confident as he would have her believe. “I do already fear that I experienced envy at the love that Kristoff and Aura shared. If I agree to this arrangement, will I not be succumbing to the desire to act upon that envy?”

Elissa laughed awkwardly. “The way I see it, this has nothing to do with love. Sex and love are two very distinctly different things, and I’m only after one of them.” _Oh Maker, I just said that out loud. I just admitted I wanted sex. Maker, Maker, Maker…._

Justice stared at her for a good amount of time, close to a minute, before he seemed to reach some sort of decision. He nodded brusquely. “Very well; I will do this for you. And because I am curious as to what could possibly be responsible for such lucid memories.”

She took a tremulous breath. Had that really just happened? Had he really just agreed to _have sex with her?_ “Justice, it’s okay, we don’t have to-”

His gaze narrowed, and something in his expression suddenly seemed predatory. “I have agreed to your proposition, Commander,” he said firmly. His hand tightened on her hip, the fabric of her shirt bunching beneath his fingers. “Now, I have no experience of my own to work with, but I believe you will have to take this off.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

He tugged on the shirt, inching it up over her hip. “Clothes off, Commander. _Now_.”

She gaped at him for a moment, trying to ignore the rush of heat between her legs. “You… are you giving _me_ an _order?_ You don’t even know anything about sex!”

The predatory look in his eyes made her shiver. “I know enough, Commander.” The hand on her hip continued to gather the fabric of her shirt, slowly drawing it upwards. The slither of cloth against her skin was making her tremble- _Maker, had he had practise at this? Because it really wasn’t fair_ \- while his other hand slid down over her stomach and-

 

“Ahh!” Her eyes rolled shut and her head fell back against the door as his finger dipped into her folds with unnerving accuracy, brushing confidently against her clit. “Oh, Maker, _yes_ like _that_ … oh _fuck_ , Justice, we can’t do this! You have to _nngh_ oh Maker, you have to stop-”

“You have yet to offer a satisfactory reason as to why I should stop,” he said evenly, as if he weren’t pleasuring her senseless against her office door. He swirled his finger artfully, pressing in exactly the right places, and with exactly the right pressure; she was clinging to him, writhing desperately. “If you were truly uninterested, you would not currently be grinding against my hand.”

“You have a smart mouth, spirit,” she gasped, trailing off into a whimper as he slid his hand lower, his fingers making a shallow foray into her heat. “ _Maker…_ ”

“You are in need of sexual satisfaction, Commander,” he said bluntly, “and since you will not allow me to fetch one of our companions, I will see this task done myself. Now take the remainder of your clothes off.”

She was keening, little breathy noises that should have been embarrassing for how needy they sounded; she couldn’t remember ever being this turned on before. She could feel his fingers slick with her arousal, and it was too much. “Alright,” she whispered, ignoring the cry of outrage from her conscience.

Reaching up with shaking hands, she began to unlace her shirt enough to slip it over her head. He watched her fingers at work, never pausing in his ministrations and with no sign that he was intrigued by what he saw or felt. It was unnerving… but at the same time she liked it. It was a challenge, like a gauntlet thrown between them. She wanted to break him, to see that spark of desire and hunger in his eyes as she cried out desperately.

She was trembling as she tugged the shirt up and over her head, gasping a little at the roll of night air over her exposed skin. Not at all because it was a turn on to stand naked in front of him… oh who was she kidding? It was the most fucking arousing thing ever, to stand there and let his silver eyes roam over her body, flickering endlessly as if he were judging her, critiquing her, measuring her. She was so used to lovers who crooned endless compliments to her, praising her body and her curves… this was starkly different, and she was so on edge, trying to work out whether he was pleased with her or not. Did spirits even find pleasure in physical appearance at all?

“Excellent,” he said after a long moment of scrutiny, rewarding her by sinking a second finger into her. She scrabbled wildly, moaning desperately and thrusting her hips against him. “This will not be so difficult if you simply follow my instructions, Commander. You will have your satisfaction and I will be on my way.”

She bit her lip to stop from whimpering. “If you think I’m letting you just do the deed and walk out of here, you’ve got another thing-”

“Enough, Commander,” he said, removing his hand from her and grasping her firmly by the wrist with the other. For a moment he seemed distracted, staring at the wetness coating his fingertips, before his gaze snapped back to her. “You do not need to waste time with idle eroticism with me; I will do this, have no fear.”

He tugged her firmly towards the bedroom; Elissa followed in a sexual daze, panting and aching from the attention he’d already paid her and confused and aroused by the way she felt. Maker, but this was the weirdest thing she’d even done. By far. And she’d done some _weird_ shit during the Blight.

Justice stopped beside the bed and the reality of the situation came screaming into focus. She was naked, with a Fade spirit in a _dead body_ , about to let him have his way with her. Her parents would be turning over in their graves.

“Justice, I-”

“Get on the bed, Commander,” he said, speaking straight over the top of whatever objection she’d been about to make. The authority in his voice, the expectation that he was going to be instantly obeyed, made her shiver and meekly do as she was told. Which was crazy; she didn’t have to do what anyone told her, least of all-

He took his shirt off, and her brain went blank. She simply stared, kneeling on the coverlet as he quickly stripped down to nothing. The body he wore had suffered- there were thick white lines of scar tissue, some of which looked particularly brutal. He was thin as well, far too thin for a living creature, an immediate hint that he was _not living_. The skin seemed stretched tight in places, the bones showing in stark relief. She should have been horrified.

She wasn’t.

Elissa swallowed nervously as he came to kneel before her on the bed, close enough that were he human she would have felt the heat radiating from him. She had resisted looking down at his manhood, worried that in death it would have… changed, somehow; at the very least; if she looked down it would make it so much more real, and at the moment she was quiet happily existing in a bubble of fantasy.

“What would you have me do, Commander?” His voice rumbled through her, making her shiver.

She bit her lip, reaching out tentatively with a hand. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

He wasn’t cold, so much; she’d expected clammy flesh, obvious signs of decay and skin that was cold and vaguely fish-like to the touch. But whatever magic had bound him to this world and forced him into Kristoff’s body had also sustained him rather well. He was cool and smooth, almost like running her hands over a marble statue like the ones that had adorned the Keep before she’d had them dragged into the basement. The statues had creeped her out, pointless symbols of status and wealth that had nothing to do with the Wardens; Justice most decidedly didn’t creep her out. As she splayed her hands over his chest, wondering for an insane moment whether feeding him would fill out the spaces between his ribs, she shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the temperature of his body.

Glancing up, she saw Fade wild eyes watching her; his face was set, although his head was tilted ever so slightly as he observed her, as if he was curious. Apart from that, no reaction at all.

“Do you like me touching you?”

“It is not unpleasant,” he admitted, but there was nothing in his voice or his expression to indicate that he was particularly enjoying it either. “But since it pleases you, I will allow you to continue.”

She hesitated a little at that, the wording throwing her off. “Justice, if you don’t want to do this, we can stop.” _It would be better if we stopped, please stop me?_ “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

His answer was very affirmative- his hand slid between them to cup her pussy, his finger immediately slipping into her heat with just the right amount of force to make her whimper. “You are still aroused,” he said frankly, pressing in deeply until his hand was flat against the curve of her body, the heel of his palm rubbing at her clit. “It would be unbecoming of me to leave you in this state when I have promised otherwise.”

She let out a keening sob, well aware that her fingers were digging in to his shoulders probably a little too hard- _would he bruise? Or if she squeezed too hard would the flesh just stay permanently out of shape, a horrific reminder of what she had succumbed to?_ \- but too far gone to stop herself. Plus, what was she supposed to do? When he moved his hand against her like that, that perfect mix of forceful and teasing, she had to grab at something just to keep herself from drifting away.

He was so cool to touch, the chill just enough to be erotic and as he moved his finger in and out, the cold added an entirely new sensory layer to her arousal. “Justice, I…” She what? She wanted more? She wanted him to stop? She wanted him to throw her down and fuck her mercilessly, pinned beneath his cold body and his icy stare?

He didn’t help her confusion when his other hand ran up the outside of her hip, up over her waist to cup a breast; he rolled the nipple gently between thumb and forefinger, as if he were more curious than determined. “You are ready, I presume?” At her dumbstruck look he clarified his words. “Your body is ready to engage in sexual congress. The few memories I have on the matter seem to indicate that you are ready for more physical activities.”

Oh Maker, it was like getting a sex talk from a Chantry sister. All fancy words and no substance… but damn it if it wasn’t just all the more sexy because of it.

He tugged her forward until she was almost straddling his lap, the closeness changing the angle at which his finger sank into her. She cried out when he added a second, biting her lip as she began to move her hips, riding him very carefully. She didn’t know what she was doing, couldn’t believe it even, but her brain was very rapidly drowning in a seething mess of lusty images and an internal monologue that was beginning to consist solely of ‘ _ohMakerohMakerohMaker yes, right_ there’.

“Are you ready?” His face was close to hers, and if he’d been anyone else she probably would have kissed him senseless. As it was, he wasn’t even breathing, and it was so hard to ignore the fact that this body was exactly that- a body, and yet she was grinding up against it, whimpering at the pleasure being meted out on her by the inhabitant of that body.

Oh, it was so confusing.

“Lie down, Commander,” he growled leaning forward until she slid off of his lap and onto the coverlet of the bed. He seemed to loom over her, somewhat predatory but still so icily cold as he crawled after her, his knees resting either side of her hips.

She shivered at his authoritative tone. He showed no signs of nervousness, no jitters for what assuredly had to be his first time. Did he feel comfortable enough with the memories he had retained from Kristoff, or did this moment really interest him so little that he saw no need to be nervous? Fuck it, she didn’t really want to think of it like that, so impersonal, so… mercenary. This might be wrong in a million other ways, but she wouldn’t sell herself cheap like that. “Call me Elissa,” she said hoarsely, needy, begging. Was it the drink, inebriation felling her boundaries? Or was it the fact that he was _Justice_ , and this was different to sex with Rory, or Zevran, or Alistair, or any of the other men who’d caught her eye over the years? He wasn’t even human, for one, and she could honestly say she’d never been this obsessed, this intoxicated by the mere thought of sex.

“Elissa,” he repeated, that growl sending little bolts of pleasure through her. His hand ran up the inside of her thigh, pushing firmly to part her legs. She was panting, clinging at the sheets with her hands so that she didn’t grab at him desperately; she felt exposed, vulnerable, like prey faced with predator. Something changed in his eyes, a faint flicker of _something_ , something that she convinced herself was the beginnings of interest. “I believe I will have you now.”


	3. Chapter 3

She bit her lip at the thrill that ran through her, fighting not to squirm or reach for him as he crawled over her. “Justice,” she whispered, the not quite chill of his body leaching into her slowly, her thighs numb from where she’d straddled his lap. “You can _never_ tell _anyone_ about this.”

He paused for a moment, wiry arms braced either side of her head, gaunt face looming above her. This close, and this intimate, she couldn’t ignore the obvious signs of death, the discolouration around his eyes, the chest that never moved with intake of breath; she felt her lip trembling with the onslaught of chaotic emotions- _yes do this! No, don’t do this! Just try it, once! Don’t be daft, he’s dead!_ \- and she turned her head to the side when she felt her eyes burning. She wasn’t some cringing virgin on a wedding night: there’d been jokes in Highever about the number of men in the barracks who’d served _under_ her, and she liked sex very much thank you, but she’d never felt so exposed in the bedroom before.

And she’d damn well never cried before. Void take her if she started now.

“Elissa,” he rumbled, his body coming to rest over hers. She let out an involuntary cry, soft and bitten off quickly as she tried to hide it, when she felt a familiar hardness pressed intimately against her belly. Functional to the extent that she required indeed. “Do you not wish for me to continue? You are distraught about something.”

She shut her eyes against the tears burning there. “I just… this isn’t right, per say, not that it’s necessarily completely wrong, but I just… I don’t know-”

“Tell me what it is that you do not find right,” he said, his voice rolling through her like a boom of thunder. The magic in him was playing over her skin, raising all manner of chaos with her sensitivity and she caught herself pressing her hips up against his. “Tell me what is wrong, and I will make it right.”

She peeked up at him again from between her lashes, ignoring the sparkle that caught the light- _it wasn’t tears_ \- and Maker, she was drunk and she was so horny and this was _just so confusing._ “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she whispered, because it wasn’t necessarily a lie.

“Elissa,” he said softly, or at least as softly as he was capable of. She felt his hand cradle her cheek, the touch of his skin cold enough to make her shiver. Or was it from arousal, the acknowledgement that it was a lover’s touch, and she couldn’t hide from what she was on the verge of doing? “Forgive me, for I do not have access to a great deal of memories regarding this act, but surely tears are out of place during sexual congress?”

The question was so ridiculously formal, but so heartfelt, that she couldn’t help but cackle somewhat hysterically. If she didn’t laugh, she knew it was only a matter of moments before she started bawling outright. “Oh Justice…”

“I am merely concerned, you see, for I do not wish to have lost the- what is the word? Momentum, I suppose. You were adequately aroused a moment ago to receive pleasure, and I would hate for your current unhappiness to have any effect on that.”

Elissa stared at him for a moment, the spirit in the dead body resting between her thighs. And she couldn’t help but laugh, great heaving guffaws that were completely unladylike and completely inappropriate if it were anyone but Justice with her just then. And the movement of her body rubbed her up against him, and anything that she’d lost in her brief moment of vulnerability was back; she found herself rubbing one foot against the back of his leg, marvelling at the wiriness, as if there was no flesh at all between skin and bone. It was an odd thing to find intriguing, somewhat macabre really, but she’d passed the point of no return quite some time ago now.

Justice was still poised patiently over her, watching the ongoing play of emotions over her face. “Commander,” he began.

“Elissa,” she corrected immediately, rolling her hips against him and moaning softly at the pressure of his body against her sex.

“Elissa,” he amended, “are you quite certain you are prepared for sexual congress? I am perplexed by your mood.”

She giggled and ran her hands over his shoulders. “I am merely confused,” she said, leaning in close to him as if she were about to confess a great secret. She nearly kissed him, the action so natural were she with any other bedmate, and yet she had to keep reminding herself against it.

Because kissing the spirit possessed dead body is so much worse than fucking it, eh?

“How so?” he asked.

With each panted breath that she took, her nipples rubbed against his cold, gaunt chest and she moaned, enjoying it far too much. “I shouldn’t want this,” she rasped, “but I do.”

He pushed his hips against her somewhat forcefully, and her moan became a cry, the action leaving little to her imagination as to what might follow. “And why is that? Is it because I am a spirit?”

“No, Justice, it’s nothing like- oh Maker, do _that_ again.”

He repeated the motion in question, and she clutched desperately at the sheets. She was _aching_ , hot and wet and with the desperate yearning to just be wildly, mindlessly fucked. “If it is not that I am a spirit, what is your specific concern?”

Oh, Maker but he was naïve. “Oh, but you’re dead, you- I mean your body, this body, oh Maker what am I doing?”

“Do you want this?”

“I want it so badly,” she whispered.

“Then I will ensure that it is to your liking,” he replied; she could have sworn that there was a flame of something in his eyes- mischief, maybe?- before he shifted over her. She held her breath as she realised what he was doing, her fingers twisting into the sheets once again. Panic and arousal waged war within her, poised now on the brink. She shivered as his hand ran down her cleft, his fingers seeking and finding her entrance. “I control this body, Elissa, and it obeys my commands. Just as you will obey me when I tell you to relax, and you will find pleasure in this act. Say it now.”

She was trembling, and she swallowed nervously before she found her voice again. “I will,” she stammered.

He nodded once, brusquely. “Very well then,” he said.

And saying that, he lifted her thigh to open her up to him, his fingers a guide as he thrust into her in one forceful motion.


	4. Chapter 4

Her thighs tightened automatically around icy hips, a desperate sort of sob ripping from her mouth. He was so very, very cold, more so now that she could feel him buried deep within her; the familiar sensation of delicious fullness, so desperately missed in these months alone, was offset by the exquisite burn of her body readjusting, stretching to accommodate him and the chill that seeped into her flesh.

He held still over her for a moment, as if aware of her need for time. “Elissa,” he rasped, settled above her on his elbows. If he’d been capable of breathing, she would have said he sounded as if he was struggling for breath. But he didn’t breathe, and he was simply a spirit, and so any signs of distress or pleasure were just in her head… right?

“Justice,” she whimpered, her skin crackling with the power that bled out of him. There were tiny flickers of lightning dancing over her skin wherever she looked, a little spark and whisper against her flesh that made her want to writhe and squirm and wrap herself around him. It wasn’t painful, per say, or at least it was on that strange border between pain and pleasure; it was certainly intense.

The room was dark but for the glow of embers in the fire, and the luminosity from his eyes was nothing short of hypnotic. “I am within you now,” he said, and if had been anyone else she might have said ‘well, _duh_ ’ but it was Justice, so she didn’t. He moved his hips against her and she whimpered at the sudden burst of sensation. “Is it not to your liking?”

She might have laughed had she still been capable of it. As it was, it was taking all of her willpower not to just thrust up against him, cling to him and wrench the pleasure her body was singing so desperately for. He was a spirit: he wouldn’t care how they conducted themselves here, in the secrecy of the bedroom. He only had half formed memories that belonged to someone else as a reference, or the glimpses that he’d snatched from human dreamers. She could do this however she wanted.

What she wanted was to kiss him; for some reason that still seemed a little too intimate.

She bit her lip instead, keeping her hands twisted in the blankets so that she wouldn’t be tempted to pull him down to her to kiss. “It… it is to my liking, Justice. Please, move again?”

He stared down at her for a moment longer, expression unreadable, before withdrawing slowly from her; the slick friction made her wail softly, her hips coming half off the bed as she followed his movement. He made some kind of wordless rumbling sound, something that sounded like a chastisement, and he thrust back into her so forcefully that she heard the bed scrape across the floor.

She cried out, giving up all pretence of control at the welcome surge of pleasure. Her fingers were twisted so tightly in the bed sheet that she felt it begin to tear, fraying beneath her nails as she dug into the mattress desperately. “Oh, _Justice,_ ” she rasped, her head falling back against the pillow.

He repeated the motion, the spike of pleasure making her whimper and arch against him; the cold within _him_ was a delightful burn, something sharp against the edge of her senses as he moved within _her_.

 _Of course he’s cold, he’s dead._

She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring that cynical voice- _rational voice_ – inside of her as she clung to him. Each thrust of his hips made her whimper and sob, and when his hand slid between them to tease her clit she gave up all hope of remaining silent and moaned his name with each rolling movement.

There was no hot and desperate breath, curling moistly against her neck; there was no thunderous heartbeat, the pulse thrumming through her and echoing the furious tattoo in her own veins. There was no jagged rhythm, of two bodies lost in passion and frantically trying to peak together. His movements were relentless, carefully controlled and methodical to the point that she was seeing stars from his persistent rhythm. _Something_ crackled over her skin, power or magic or the spirit version of sweat perhaps, and she felt so utterly drenched in sensation. There was nothing about him that wasn’t doing terribly arousing things to her body.

But he was not human, and although it was so desperately hard to use her brain in those moments, her sense of self-preservation kept rearing its ugly head.

 _You can’t have sex with a dead body._

 _Well, I believe I already am._

 _No, you can’t because it’s morally wrong. He’s dead! He shouldn’t even be able to move like this!_

But of course as she all but clawed at his back, sobbing and whispering his name into his ear, the accusation didn’t really seem to hold that much weight. So she just ignored it, or tried to, and stared at the overhead canopy. And tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong, all the ways his body could fail him- what if certain parts snapped off entirely?- and the ways that this could turn into some nightmarish debacle.

And then she was going to have to explain to anyone who came to rescue her why she had a dead body wedged inside of her. Brilliant.

“Elissa.”

His voice rumbled through her, part of her, and she managed to drag her eyes away from the canopy to look at him. He was staring down at her, his pace never faltering, eyes burning into her fiercely. “You are tense,” he murmured, his finger swirling artfully over her clit until she grit her teeth and moaned. “I believe I told you to relax.”

She laughed shakily, trailing off on a whimper as he stared at her. Under his gaze she felt vulnerable, more exposed than she’d ever been before. This wasn’t her favourite position for sex, or at least not the one she usually got the most pleasure from, but something about the ongoing onslaught of sensations, and his apparent determination to dominate her in this endeavour, was making her shudder and moan from even the most basic of touches. “This is not exactly a relaxing activity, Justice.” How she managed to even speak at that moment, she’d never know. Her body was walking a razor edge, pressure and pleasure bubbling up within her far too rapidly.

She wasn’t inexperienced in the art of sex- she liked to think of herself as quite talented, really. That didn’t explain what her body was doing, what _he_ was doing to _her_ ; she was writhing and gasping and clinging to him, her feet in his lower back and her arms around his shoulders, her hips arching clear off the bed, her face buried in his neck. Her lips possibly brushed against his bare skin, just the very edge of his jaw, although she wasn’t prepared to admit that to herself.

“Oh, _Maker_ , fuck, _Justice_ ,” she wailed, the end surging up within her far too quickly. Where was her stamina, her ability to withstand long and languorous love making sessions that lasted for entire afternoons? This hardly even qualified as a quick tumble, and yet she could already feel herself tipping over that final edge.

“Elissa.” She tore her face from his shoulder with difficulty, her forehead pressed up against his a moment later. She stared up at Fade bright eyes, almost insensible from the breaking wave within her. For a moment, her lips grazed against the edge of his mouth; for a moment, she could have sworn she saw the same desperation in his eyes that she felt within her. But of course, she was imagining it… right? “You should come now.”

His words, the rumbling voice that seemed to echo through her body, were the final trigger. With a frantic sob, a scream that they could probably hear halfway to Denerim, Elissa felt her body tense one final time and then shatter.


	5. Chapter 5

She did not fall back down easily. Justice did not stop immediately, although his movements slowed; each rolling thrust pushed her pleasure on for just a little bit longer, the ebb and surge of sensation making her whimper and tighten her thighs about his hips. She could hardly see straight, her body chaotic and loose and then suddenly tight and desperate again as tiny aftershocks rolled through her, shivers and gasps hanging in the air alongside each sobbed whisper of his name.

Maker. She didn’t really remember orgasms being quite that mind-blowing. Zevran had been quite talented at calling them forth, she remembered that much, but… this? The onslaught still surged through her, each breaking wave a little smaller than the one before it. Best ever? Maybe; and wouldn’t that just be absurdly ironic? It was a little hard to think right then, to remember anything at all other than this glorious, erotic, depraved moment.

“Oh bloody… fuck… something…” Words, how did words work again? She knew it’d come easier to her once upon a time.

Justice moved slightly and she choked on a whimper when she felt him withdraw from her. The slick friction was enough to have her arching slightly off the bed, hands reaching for him blindly even as the familiar post-coital exhaustion began to seep into her bones. He murmured her name- or rather, said it at a reasonable volume, which was quiet for him- and something about it made her want to curl around him and never ever let go.

Apparently if she went without sex for too long she was prone to bouts of sentimentality. She’d have to watch that.

He slid in beside her, a notion she found amusing, for when would a spirit have gained any idea of after-sex cuddling and the like? She murmured something in assent, something that didn’t quite make sense even to her; she found herself draped over his chest, nuzzled into the crook between shoulder and arm, face resting where his heart should have been beating. If she was completely honest with herself, there was a faint odour, something sickly sweet that drew to mind a plate of food left out too long. Her mind wanted to make other comparisons, more rational comparisons given that he was dead, but-

 _Buck up, old girl, too late for regrets now._

“Elissa.”

That voice, still enthralling even after she’d succumbed to her depravity. Surely she should have gained some sort of resistance- she’d tasted the forbidden fruit and now she didn’t need to eat it anymore?

 _Maker, Lis, just stop making analogies. If anyone could hear you right now…_

“Mm hmm?” she murmured instead, hiding her face against his chest so that she couldn’t make eye contact with him. After all, she’d just had explosively excellent sex, nearly kissed him despite swearing not to, and made pathetic, needy little noises when he’d pulled away. If Justice had been human, she would have been mortified at her display of clinginess.

“Is everything quite alright?”

For some reason she found his question highly amusing, and she let out a husky sort of giggle. “Oh, Justice,” she said fondly, “why on earth would you ask that?”

“You seemed surprised in the throes of your climax. As if you were not expecting it. Have you never derived pleasure from this act before?”

Before he’d even finished speaking she was laughing, clinging to him as tears of mirth gathered in her eyes. “Oh, sweet flaming prophet,” she gasped, trying to get herself under control. Every time she thought she was settled, she got the giggles all over again. “Justice, sweetheart, you just ask all the best questions.”

“I only ask because your reaction seemed so heartfelt.” She could practically hear the confusion in his voice, which only made her giggle again. “It seemed a logical assumption to make; I have memories that suggest that women do not always find the same sort of completion that their male lovers do. I assumed that perhaps you had suffered the same disappointments, given your vivid reaction to your pleasure.”

It was too much; she levered herself onto an elbow, intending to lean over him. He sat up as well, so that they were eye to eye; she swallowed, finding herself still affected by the sight of those swirling silver eyes in the gaunt face.

 _Shouldn’t find that attractive, now, should I?_

“Sometimes women just… have varying reactions to orgasms,” she said, feeling a blush creeping into her cheeks. Oh, blessed bloody Maker, she was _blushing?_ But then again, how often did she have to give a sex education class to the bedmate responsible for blinding her with pleasure a few minutes earlier? “And it depends on a lot of things, like um…. Fuck this, it shouldn’t be so awkward to talk about; like how aroused they are before sex, how good their partner is, what they do together… there’s lots of factors that affect what happens when she comes.”

He reached out a hand to trace fingers over her face, lingering over lips. She felt her breath catch in her throat, her cheeks growing redder. “So my attempts to pleasure you were vastly successful? You are now satiated?”

 _Oh Maker._ “Um, I suppose we could call it vastly successful, yes. For now at least I don’t think I could possibly find a reason to complain-”

The fingers stilled her lips, blocking the stream of babbling words. She wanted to suck them into her mouth. “Your satisfaction will dim with time? Elissa, how long do you have until my attempts to pleasure you have been for naught?”

Oh sweet flaming prophet, it never ended with him did it? But his words sent a flood of heat to her belly, her aching sex yearning for satisfaction again. “Um, well, in the past… in the past when I was, um, _fuck_ Justice, engaging regularly, I would have said… several times a night?”

His weight shifted abruptly. Something glimmered in his eyes, and she found herself being slowly pressed back into the mattress. “Define several times a night. That is an abstract concept, not a true count. Tell me how many.”

She swallowed, panting as his weight came over her fully. “Justice, look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you don’t have any kind of obligation to me at all, so we can-”

“Elissa.” His tone stopped her dead, her toes curling into the bed sheet. “How many?”

She felt herself tremble. “Usually three times,” she whispered.

If he had been human, she would have said the expression he gave her just then was smug. Challenging. _Sexy_. “And the most?”

Oh Maker, he wouldn’t… “Five,” she breathed. That had been a glorious night. Switching between Alistair and Zevran, with neither of them the wiser, using her turn at sentry duty as an excuse to dart from tent to tent. Because, hey, if a girl was expecting to defeat a giant god lizard all by herself and settle a civil war or seven before lunch, she was entitled to a little fun on the side.

“Alright then,” he said, his voice rumbling through her again where their bodies touched. He cocked his head to the side, assessing her. “We will aim for six. That should satiate you for some time.”

She spluttered, trying to protest, trying to put him off, but words just seemed so inadequate just then. “Justice,” she croaked desperately.

His eyes flashed, quite obviously this time, and for a moment they were vivid blue instead of smoky grey. “Hush, Elissa,” he growled, one hand snaking out to pin her wrist to the bed. The movement was so shocking, her head turning to stare in incredulity at their joined hands and then back to him.

“Justice?” she whispered, licking suddenly dry lips.

“I said I would see this done,” he said, dipping his head abruptly much closer to hers. “And I will do whatever is necessary to see you satisfied.”

She barely had time to draw a breath to protest again, before he dropped the last few inches and kissed her.


	6. Chapter 6

He was good to his word.

The first kiss took her by surprise, and for a moment she was too stunned to respond, too confused to work out whether she should be pushing him away or dragging him closer. His mouth was cold, and he was not particularly amorous or adventurous with his motions; but of course it only took her a moment or two for her to succumb, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely in response. A rumble of approval echoed through him, and one of his hands slid up her neck, fingers stroking lazily against her skin in a way that made her want to purr.

She didn’t push her luck with the kissing initially, because the taste was not quite right and she wasn’t really drunk enough to be able to let that slide. But, _oh_ , when he pushed back into her with a growl, his mouth covering hers this time as she sobbed out desperately, there was something much more intimate that had been missing the first time. She gasped and writhed with every thrust, arching up to meet him, his relentless rhythm as frustrating as it was fucking arousing. She’d never had a partner who could keep up such a perfect rhythm, and while there was something to be said for that moment when passion and desperation took over, when movements became jagged and frenzied, this pace that he set was maddeningly perfect.

He let her gasp for air, nuzzling at the edge of her mouth- _who had taught him that?_ \- and then pressing her back into the pillow when he deemed her ready again. Maker, this dominating aspect of him was _amazing_ , and she whimpered and clawed at his back, kissing him when her options were that or sobbing desperately like some inexperienced wench in the naughty stories Sigrun had found in the library downstairs. And the kisses were not terrible; in fact she could be honest and say that the heightened sense of intimacy, the entwining of their bodies in new and fascinating and depraved ways, just quickened her pleasure. He didn’t kiss her the way she kissed him- mostly he just joined their mouths together, the rhythm of his lips against hers not dissimilar to the movement of his hips. She, on the other hand, threw all caution to the wind and kissed him desperately, tugging on his lip, teeth scraping against his jaw, her tongue lapping at his mouth, wrapping herself as tightly around him as she could. The little flickers of lightning that danced over her skin sparked between them, a zing of sensation whenever their lips met. She moaned and squirmed as he continued, pushing her pleasure ever upwards as he thrust into her with cold precision; his movements drove her mad, but the magic sustaining him was intoxicating.

He was just so magnificently relentless; he never needed to slow down for his own benefit, or pick up the pace when he felt his own inevitable end creeping in. He never took from her simply to find his own pleasure, without care for how she felt- it was like having her own sex toy, a sentient sex toy with glorious stamina, concerned only with pleasuring her and making sure she climaxed.

Six times, apparently. That was the gauntlet he’d thrown.

The second time came easily enough; or rather one could say she came easily enough. She threw her head back, screaming out desperately as he pushed her relentlessly over that edge, his movements not stilling until he was completely certain of her completion. When he rolled to the side and slid from her, she choked and dug her fingers into his flesh, beyond the point of caring whether it would damage his frail body or not. She wrapped her leg over his, dragging him back until their hips were flush together; she buried her face against his chest, trembling from the onslaught of two orgasms in quick succession.

“Do you object to the kissing, Elissa?”

She laughed breathlessly, still panting for air; admittedly, her lips were sort of numb, and the taste of him was _not_ something she was going to let herself stop and think about for too long. But then of course her depravity ran away with her for a moment and she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the taste of _other things_ that would normally be a part of her sexual interludes…

“I don’t object! Not at all!” She was babbling, trying to get the image out of her head. Clearly, this was how people got sent straight to the deepest, darkest pits of the Void. “It was nice, really nice, um, I wasn’t expecting it at all, so you surprised me a little, but fuck if I mind it, I love kissing normally-”

“Elissa.” At his tone her mouth snapped shut. “You are talking too much, to distract me from something, but I am afraid I do not know what it is I have said to upset you in the first place. Have I offended?”

She shivered and tried to hide her face further again his chest. He was so gaunt, bones pressing into her sharply, and the cold was hard to ignore, but she did her best. “Nothing, nothing is wrong, why would you say that, we’ve just had amazing, fabulous sex, so I couldn’t possibly have anything to-”

“ _Elissa._ ”

“Oh, _fuck_ you, you domineering bastard, you’re so nosy!” The petulant outburst made her feel mildly better, but when she glanced up he was staring down at her patiently. “Augh!”

“I believe the evening will be much more tolerable if you were to just tell me what was wrong,” he said calmly.

“Oh fucking Maker, you are just so… if you were human, I’d smack you in the mouth for being smart.” She grumbled to herself for a moment longer, feeling a blush creeping back into her cheeks. She gritted her teeth. “I was just wondering whether you felt pleasure at all, during… well, while we were having sex. Whether you wanted me to do… _things_ to you. I don’t know what you’re capable of, so I don’t, um…”

 _Let’s just stop right there, that seems like the smartest thing to do. Not much else tonight that’s been a smart decision._

He stared down at her for a long moment, silver eyes swirling endlessly. “You are concerned as to whether I find pleasure?” There was genuine confusion in his tone, something that made her want to cling to him, hug him, run her hands up and down his back and whisper soothingly into his ear. “I am not human; additionally, the body I inhabit is beyond the ability to experience most sensory things. Why would you concern yourself with this?”

She chewed on her lip, trying to ignore the particular taste that lingered there. “Um, well… I just don’t want to feel like I’m… fuck, I don’t know, taking advantage of you or something. You’re not human, you’re right, and I don’t want to be thinking that you’re all naïve and unaware of what this should encompass for you, and I don’t want to feel like I’ve cheated you or something, because I’m just taking pleasure without giving anything back, and I-”

“Elissa, you talk far too much,” he said; she could have sworn that the hint of a smile tweaked the corner of his mouth. “I was aware of what I was offering- should that not be enough for you?”

“But I want you to feel it too,” she blurted out, suddenly aware that she needed it. She wanted to see him lose control; she wanted to see the surprise in his eyes when pleasure overtook him for the very first time…

Fucking Maker. She wanted to deflower a spirit. There really wasn’t any hope for her.

“Elissa,” he said, his hand sliding down the outside of her hip, “you are concerning yourself far too much with incidentals. We should really continue, elsewise you will get no rest tonight.”

“So you feel nothing?” she asked, moaning when his hand dipped between her legs. Oh, sweet flaming prophet, she felt so sensitive, but her body crowed with delight at his touch. “Fuck, do you not need a break at all? No recovery time?”

“Why would I?” he murmured, sliding over her yet again. “And in answer to your question, I suppose I could admit to feeling satisfaction in seeing you sated. That is pleasurable to me.”

It was something, at the very least. And she’d avoided mentioning oral sex, which was always a bonus. She shivered as she felt his cock pressing into her hip yet again, her breath catching when he nudged her thighs apart for round three. “Can I be on top this time?”

“No,” he said simply, and his eyes were remarkably blue for a moment, mesmerizingly so. He thrust into her, _hard_ , the colour intensifying as she cried out, and that almost smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth again. “This is my task, and I’ll do it properly, or not at all.”

 _Domineering bastard._ Not that she really had the breath to complain.


	7. Chapter 7

She would not last long, this time. 

She was overly sensitive, fast approaching that thin barrier where pleasure and pain danced together, and she had reached that delicate point of oversaturation where she didn’t know whether she wanted to drag him closer or sob and push him away. She ached and she writhed, each thrust of his hips against hers wrenching a pained sob from her as she twisted beneath him, her mouth against his ear as she panted and moaned like a two bit whore. 

_The chafing_ ; Maker help her, this was going to be the death of her. Three times was hardly a remarkable number of couplings for her, and she didn’t mind the sweet sting of pain on her way to completion, but Justice was just so relentless, keeping a pace she couldn’t hope to match even with warden stamina on her side. She’d survived five times in one night, after all, with another warden responsible for two of those tumbles, and although she’d walked bow legged for a week afterwards she couldn’t remember struggling as much as she did now. 

She panted desperately, her fingers digging in deeply to his shoulders and her feet scrabbling pathetically at the back of his thighs and his buttocks. She bucked against him and whimpered, the rasp of stubble on his sunken cheeks scraping on her sensitive skin.

“Stop, _stop_ ,” she begged, convulsing as she clung to him; it wasn’t quite another orgasm, but her overstimulated body wasn’t far off of one. The ache in her loins was not gentle, heat and pain blending together so deliciously. “Justice, _stop_.” 

He halted instantly at her command, buried deep within her. Her body gripped at him tightly despite her best efforts, her hips tilting to accommodate him further. He levered himself onto his elbows, perched above her with a sombre expression. She resented him slightly for that- she knew she must look a fright, flushed skin and sweaty, clammy flesh, hair a tangle of knots and chest heaving desperately as she tried to suck in enough air. By comparison, he looked no different to normal, his expression the same as if they were conversing on the rooftop in the place he liked to frequent.

“Is something amiss, Elissa?” he said gravely, his tone serious. “Do you wish to conclude our arrangement early?”

She shook her head frantically, almost shivering from the onslaught of sensations assailing her. “N-no,” she said, her head tipping back against the pillow as she fought to get herself under control, panting shallowly. “I just need a break, that’s all.”

“If we break too regularly, we will not complete our agreed upon-”

“I know, I know!” She laughed shakily, her head still tipped back so that she didn’t have to meet his gaze. “I just… I need a rest. It’s too much, too quickly.”

“Is it not what you desired?”

She breathed out on a laugh. “Oh, trust me Justice, it’s precisely what I desired. It’s fucking amazing. But if I don’t stop for a few minutes I’ll regret it tomorrow.”

He shifted slightly, the movement sending an agonised spike of pleasure through her belly; her thighs tightened around his hips instantly, a whimper escaping her lips. “I do not wish for you to regret our agreement,” he said earnestly, and she nearly laughed again. That was probably as close an admission as she was likely to get from him that he was enjoying himself. “Is there anything I can do to diminish the chances of regret? Do you require something different from our coupling?”

Sometimes his formal speech made her want to smack him across the mouth. How wonderful it would be to hear him growl his desires against her jaw, to whisper obscenities as he fucked her, to hear him roar as he lost himself in her body. She didn’t want polite requests- she wanted him wild, she wanted him out of control. She wanted him teetering on the edge of a knife, just like she was.

“I need…” She licked her lips, the sweet and rotten taste of him on her tongue. “I need assistance.”

“Is that not what I am providing to you?”

She hesitated, her heart in her throat. How much did he remember of Kristoff’s sexual interludes? He was remarkably good at fucking, and that couldn’t all be down to chance. Granted, he wasn’t hugely adventurous, but she didn’t really need that with the quality he’d been providing so far. “In the second drawer,” she whispered, gesturing vaguely to the cabinet beside the bed. “There’s a box pushed towards the back.”

“And this box will allow you to-”

“The things in it will,” she interrupted, biting into her lip as she panted shallowly. “The box has oils in it, among other things. I need those oils.”

She could feel his eyes on her, and she bit down harder to stop herself form begging. Finally he shifted, withdrawing from her- she cried out at the sensation, her hips automatically following the movement despite the sharp twinge of pleasure-pain it brought her- and knelt between her legs. “And this oil will-”

“Oh fucking Void, don’t make me spell it out for you,” she snapped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “The oil will make the fucking smoother. Literally. Understand?”

He was silent for a moment. “Understood, Elissa.” The way her name came out, a half growl that he surely didn’t mean to sound so defiant, but _oh_ , it made her toes curl into the sheets. 

His movements were stiff and mechanical again, his body as ungainly as a golem as he levered himself over her leg and towards the edge of the bed. After the past half hour, lost in the beauty of his motions, she had forgotten how awkward his body could be most of the time. Another reminder that the body he inhabited was in fact dead and-

_And I’ve just spent the last half hour being fucked senseless by a dead body and the spirit using the body like a fuck puppet._

She burst into a fit of hysterical giggles, unable to help herself. _Fuck puppet_. Oh Maker, but that was a terrible, hilarious image. 

“Is something amiss, Elissa?” 

She waved her hand weakly in his direction. “Nothing, nothing at all,” she said, swallowing down the laughter. The drawer squeaked as it opened, wood scraping against wood, and she heard him sorting through the contents of the drawer to find her secret box. 

The one good thing about being in a permanent home again was the ability to keep her personal life personal. She didn’t feel any shame about her interest in sex, but living in a canvas tent for well over a year had certainly dulled her appreciation for loud, boisterous couplings. And when the entirety of your life needed to be carried on a pack on your shoulder, sex toys weren’t exactly a priority when it came to keeping the weight on her back at a minimum. 

She’d made sure to make a special visit to The Pearl the last time she’d been in Denerim, and the Wonders of Thedas. The little box she’d kept at home in Highever was long gone, and sorely in need of replacement. 

The latch clicked and she sighed in anticipation, her belly quivering with renewed desire. But Justice did not return to her side immediately, and after a moment she glanced towards him, to see what it was that was taking him so long. 

Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw him staring into the box, his fingers hesitating over the contents.

She lurched up onto one elbow, the motion drawing his attention back to her. There was something in his gaze that made her skin hot and tight, or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on her part. 

“You use these to bring yourself pleasure?” he asked, lifting one of the toys from the box delicately. He turned it about in his hand, examining it from all angles. The curiosity on his face was clear, the hint of blue flickering in his eyes; it brought out deeper shades of blue-black in the smooth black surface of the toy. 

She let out a moan. “Yes,” she whispered, licking her lips as desire coiled through her. “But we don’t need them right now- it’s just the little bottle at the back that we need.”

“There are a number of bottles contained within this box,” he said calmly, still holding the sleek black toy in his hand. 

The sight of him perusing her toys made her whimper, her hips shifting impatiently against the sheets. “It’s just the bottle towards the back,” she prompted again, impatient for him to return to pleasuring her again. Although as he continued to examine the toy while his other hand dug through the box, she couldn’t help but imagine the possibilities… if she asked him, he would do it, of that she had no doubt. If she explained to him that women could find pleasure in different ways- 

“There are several bottles in here, Elissa,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, “including this one.”

She almost didn’t realise what bottle he meant; she was drunk, after all, and hardly thinking straight. But she saw the eager gleam on his face, and when he held it up in the dim light of the fire she realised what it was that he had found. 

A tiny vial, something she had picked up from the Wonders of Thedas some time ago now, and had not had cause to use. A mage had showed her the marvels of it some time ago, and she had not yet had the pleasure of taking another mage to her bed to warrant using it. 

It seemed insignificant in his large hands, his callused and narrowed fingers stroking the outside almost lovingly. The cork came free with a small pop, and she saw the flare of blue in his eyes as he held it close to his face. “This contains lyrium,” he said sharply, his voice a great deal more vibrant and intense than it had been moments earlier. “Is this oil intended to be used in the same manner as the other that you described?”

Oh _Maker_ , she could hear the hunger in his voice, the curiosity. “It is indeed,” she whispered, licking her lips. 

“Will it not harm you? You have shown me that lyrium is harmful to mortals.”

“It’s not a high enough quantity to harm,” she said; she felt as if she were about to burst out of her skin. 

“You are certain?”

“Quite certain, I have used it- _ahh!_ ” Her hips came off the bed, desire sizzling through her like wildfire over dry grass, as he upended the vial over her belly and thighs. It _sparkled_ \- there was no other word for the sensation, really- her skin singing beneath the slightly sticky fluid, the tiny hint of lyrium in the mix sending little sparks of awareness through her. 

She all but shrieked when she felt Justice’s fingers brushing above her clit, trailing lazily over her flesh and drawing little swirls in the mess.

“Remarkable,” he murmured, dipping back between her legs and watching her pant and moan and claw at the sheet, his fingers sliding with ease thanks to the lyrium concoction. “You clearly enjoy the added stimulation.”

“What the fuck gave that away?” she panted, her hands fisted desperately into the sheets. She was on fire again, the magic doing delicious things to her. 

He removed his finger and she whimpered, the whimper trailing out onto a desperate sob when he instead put it into his mouth, his brow furrowed in concentration as he took in her essence mixed with the lyrium. 

“Justice, _please_ ,” she begged, her hips tilting upwards to make her offer more apparent. She didn’t care if he fucked her or buried his head between her legs- _Maker, could he even do that?_ \- but the teasing and the lyrium was too much. “ _Please_.”

“As you desire, Elissa,” he said, and she told herself she detected eagerness in his tone, and the bed dipped as he climbed back onto the sheets beside her. She went to turn into him, her foot already hooking over the curve of his thigh to draw him closer, but he growled and pushed her back down. Where the lyrium concoction rubbed between their bodies, it sparkled and burned, sharp like ice.

There was no ignoring the spark of blue in his eyes, the fierce look of concentration that had enthralled him. He knelt between her open legs and gripped her hips firmly, hard enough that his fingers dug in and she gasped as he dragged her closer. He looked almost predatory as he bent and inhaled deeply over her stomach, his fingers dancing through the spilled mess on her belly and then back to his mouth; he was not teasing, as she would have expected from any other partner. He had three fingers in his mouth at once, no patience or grace to his hunger. She sobbed in desperation as she watched him, all but ready to grab his head and thrust it between her legs- she’d already been fucked thoroughly by his dead cock, so his tongue could hardly be any worse. 

“There are many ways for a mortal woman to achieve completion,” he said, glancing up at her. She moaned as she stared at him, the lyrium dribbling down his chin slightly, his eyes sparkling with a different hunger to what she was used to seeing. “Unless my memory has served me incorrectly?”

She shook her head frantically. “No, no,” she said, her voice almost shaking from the force of her need. “Women can reach completion a number of ways.”

He drew another pattern on her skin, lower this time, and lifted the finger back to his mouth. “My understanding of body language is rather untried in this area of interaction,” he said slowly, “but I believe that you are indicating your interest in exploring a particular avenue of physical pleasure?”

“Oh _fuck_ , Justice, just do it,” she begged.

“Do what, Commander? I do not wish to attempt the wrong-”

“ _Fuck me with your mouth, your fucking tease!_ ”

He did not wait for additional instructions- not that he needed them. He pried her legs further apart and settled between them, placing his open mouth over her sex.

She shrieked, her hips bucking, and he grabbed at them firmly and pressed her back onto the bed. “Your cooperation would be appreciated, Commander,” he said sternly. Her whimpers and babbling pleas seemed to have no effect on him as he paused to look down at her. “I had not taken the time previously to examine you.”

“I’m not here for a fucking medical!”

“Regardless, I have never had the opportunity to view the sex of a mortal woman.” He ran his finger over the curve of the lips, lingering at her entrance. “It is intriguing.”

“Well I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she choked, trying to push at the iron grip he had on her. She was certain she was going to explode out of her skin any second now. “For fuck’s sake-”

“Calm yourself, Elissa,” he said. “I will see this done.”

When his mouth closed over her again she sobbed in relief, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head to encourage him. He lacked the finesse that Zevran possessed, but he wasn’t quite as clumsily eager as Alistair had been. His movements were- for lack of a better word again- mechanical, and methodical. He was consistent, his tongue cold and firm, and the pleasure built rapidly within her, just as quickly as she’d expected. 

He wasn’t creative, but that hardly seemed to matter- the lyrium was enough of a draw for him, and he lapped at her sex eagerly, for once finding pleasure for them both. 

She came in a rush, her thighs tightening around his head, her hips pressing against him, her fingers digging in hard enough that were he alive, she would have drawn blood. She screamed, her body clenching up in a delicious agony as he pushed her to her third consecutive orgasm of the evening. 

With a roar, he surged up her body and pressed her into the mattress with his, his mouth smashing down on hers hard enough that she suspected she could taste blood on her tongue. But she could also taste him, and the lyrium, and the tang of her own release, and oh-

His hand was between them and before she could say a thing he had parted her flesh and slammed back into her.

She clawed at his back, her feet scrabbling wildly as she tipped her head back and sobbed. Her body had not quite come down from the previous high, the spark still lingering in her skin, and as he began to pound relentlessly away at her she couldn’t stop the inevitable peak. She came screaming his name, bucking furiously off the bed, clinging to him as if letting go would mean her death. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t stop, her whole body was burning from ice and pleasure and pain and magic. 

“Tell me of the five,” he snapped, his hand on his jaw and turning her to face him. His eyes were ablaze with blue light, illuminating the room. She couldn’t even draw breathe from the weight of him and the shock her body was suffering through, but she tried.

“What do you-?”

“I have served you well,” he said coldly, ferociously. Was he drunk on the lyrium, or was she just spiralling back down from the orgasm high? “I have sworn to provide you with six, and I have assisted you to four already. I am greater than the five.”

She wanted to laugh. “Oh, you sure as hell are,” she rasped, whimpering as he continued to move slowly against her. “Oh Maker, Justice, we need to break for a while.”

“I have sworn-”

“I know,” she said, running her hand over the back of his neck. “I know. It’s okay. It’s break time. You can’t serve if I’m too exhausted to continue.”

He was silent for a moment, considering her words. His expression was fierce- she wanted to say possessive, but that was probably just her imagination. “Very well,” he said finally, pulling himself free of her. He fetched the blankets and dragged them over her, tucking them firmly beneath her chin. “You will sleep now, and we will awaken in several hours to continue.”

She wanted to argue that this was her bed, her bedroom, and she didn’t take orders from an egomaniacal spirit on a lyrium rush, but she was too exhausted to fight. She meekly accepted the order, and tried not to tense when she felt him settle in beside her. “You don’t sleep,” she pointed out hesitantly.

“No. But I can hardly leave while my task is uncompleted, now, can I?”

That made a weird sort of sense. “Do you…” She bit her lip. “Do you mind if I hug you?”

She risked looking at him, and he looked surprised. “I understand that physical intimacy is something enjoyed by some, but our arrangement did not strike me as-”

“Please?” she blurted out, not even certain why she was so desperate.

He eyed her carefully, the blue in his eyes very slowly trickling away, leaving her with the familiar silver. “Very well,” he said, and she scooted across the bed and up against him, doing her best to mould to the jagged angles and hard edges of his body. He didn’t really try to make the endeavour any easier, but he didn’t stop her either.

She fell asleep with her head tucked against the cold curve of his chest, no heartbeat to thump comfortably against her cheek.


End file.
